


The Fall (into Love)

by Bluesjeanne



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Falling In Love, Historical Accuracy, M/M, Period Typical Bigotry, Slow Burn, at least An Attempt Was Made, beta? isn't that a type of tape, fools alike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:21:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29820714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluesjeanne/pseuds/Bluesjeanne
Summary: Every love story has a beginning. Few have a bloody beginning. There’s possibly only one that begins by the couple killing each other.Such is the tale of Nicolo Di Genova and Yusuf Al-Kaysani, now together for over 900 years.All those centuries ago, the two men were not looking for love, of course. They were looking for exactly what they found: war. And they discovered no less than what they had expected: death.And slowly, they found love.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I love these characters, first and foremost. That said, Nicky said he'd been taught to hate Joe so it's safe to say how these fellows start out is not as the lovable guys in the movie. As unfortunate as it is, some of the comments from Nicolo are ones I heard as a kid. I have since discovered reality, but that's besides the point. Nicolo says some ignorant stuff and this may make people uncomfortable, either because it can resonate with past experiences or it can differ from how they'd like to view Nicky. So if you'd prefer to avoid that, there are a lot of other great stories out there.  
> I try for historical accuracy, but I'm not guaranteeing anything. 
> 
> How the attraction works or is realized is loosely inspired by a story from the documentary "Open Secrets." It's something worth watching, btw. 
> 
> Comments are encouraged to puff up my ego. Everyone needs theirs to be healthy.

“Until we have seen someone’s darkness,  
we don’t really know who they are.  
Until we have forgiven someone’s darkness,  
we don’t really know what love is.”  
-Marianne Williams

Chapter 1

Every love story has a beginning. Few have a bloody beginning. There’s possibly only one that begins by the couple killing each other.

Such is the tale of Nicolo Di Genova and Yusuf Al-Kaysani, now together for over 900 years.

All those centuries ago, the two men were not looking for love, of course. They were looking for exactly what they found: war. And they discovered no less than what they had expected: death.

Nicolo’s journey to his death was, in many ways, wholly unremarkable and nothing entirely surprising. He had become a priest, as his father before him and as his grandfather before him. He’d had a girlfriend as was the social expectation until word came that the Church was finally cracking down on such practices. Priests were to be celibate; their lives dedicated to God and His followers. In keeping with these obligations, Nicolo had ended his relationship promptly and with promises of remaining friends. Theirs had been a sweet and calm courtship. There were no hard feelings when the young woman’s affections eventually turned to another man in town. Nicolo encouraged the relationship, letting everyone know he would happily preside over the presumed wedding whenever it came. He was only saddened he hadn’t been the one to make her so joyous for he had loved her as best he could.

Rather than linger on what was lost, what future intimate companionship was denied to him, Nicolo focused on his duties to his home, to his flock as it were. He shifted his attention on studies and reading, learning what he believed was required to serve and a bit more. It was not uncommon for a man of the cloth to have a sword, to be proficient in its use. Increased sword training had helped abate the whispers of the locals who wondered how a man who could not father children could possibly be worthy enough for God. Though the questions did still linger.

So it was of no surprise to anyone that Nicolo quickly volunteered when the announcement of the First Crusade and its grand promises came. His father had wanted to knight him, as was allowed by a priest, by Nicolo had refused, citing the virtue of humility. He had taken his vows seriously, devoted to reaching his flock by modest means. While his family had scoffed at his efforts, Nicolo was there to help tend a garden or patch a fence, and graciously accepted any dinner invite from a family as if it came from the Pope himself. Still his family, friends, and parishioners had guaranteed that when he set sail to the holy land, he had full chain mail, extra protection, a sharpened sword, and their full support.

In contrast, Yusuf’s path to death was, in many ways, by misfortune and tragedy. He had been a merchant from a family of merchants. It was an exulted position, considering the importance of trade. They focused on textiles, but Yusuf excelled in conversation. Their stall was known for having all the latest news and gossip. His success was due to his unrelenting desire to hear of customers’ travels, of distant lands. While most might entice shoppers with merely their wares, Yusuf attracted business by openly encouraging people to tell him about their journeys. He’d picked up languages and could talk with any customer. They seemed to be drawn to his family’s stall by his joyful laughs and charm.

His temper was a bit of a deterrent at times, of course. Yusuf did not tolerate thieves or anyone being disrespectful. He was known for his protectiveness. His mother would steer him away, warning him that his anger would surely be the death of him if he were not careful.

He’d been happy for the most part, only saddened by the belief he could not leave for his adventures. Skirmishes and battles around his region were becoming more frequent, as different groups fought over territory. He could hardly leave his family and friends, especially as he had honed his skills to protect them. His dreams of adventure would wait.

Not that it saved his loved ones, unfortunately. The battles had soon engulfed the land, with brief moments of peace. Those wars had claimed too many friends and all of his family before the First Crusade had started. By then, Yusuf was a former merchant really, a man who had finally travelled from his home, determined to stop the latest invaders regardless of who they were. His grand adventure reduced to a hate-filled mission to avenge his loss. He would be there to destroy the newest army that threatened his homeland.

During a six-month siege and heavy losses at Jerusalem, the two men found themselves in war together. It was actually far more bloody and brutal than either had anticipated. Archers on the city’s walls would fire their arrows at the soldiers below. The sharp tips slicing between chainmail for fatal wounds if the victim had not worn extra padding. If they had, the enemy would aim any blows of his sword or shield to the stuck arrow, helping it past any protection and into flesh. Skirmishes were rare at the start; the Crusaders were blocked by the walls of the city and the Shiite Muslims and Muslim Selijuks— both still wrestling with each other over control— were more than willing to let them swelter and rot outside.

The hot environment had caused many Crusaders to choose between heat exhaustion and less protection by not wearing the padding. Many chose cooling relief so the archers on the walls were afforded some luck. Sometimes there were very easy targets. Nicolo suffered through the heat, becoming more accustomed to it as the months dragged on.

A weakness in a section of the city’s walls was finally exploited, and the Crusaders pushed hard. The carnage didn’t stop when it fell; there was to be no easy surrender. When the Crusaders entered the city, when the gates opened by a traitor’s hand and soldiers poured in, it was a gruesome final battle. They had brought their horses which meant they could ride through, cutting and slashing. The damage was being done. They weren’t the only ones with horses, of course, but their style of warfare was steady attack, compared to the swift strikes of their opponents. Suddenly there were no quick retreats for the city defenders, merely struggles to survive in their former sanctuary. There were practically puddles of blood, soaking into boots as both sides volleyed for position. The built up rage was released, revenge and wrath had flooded the city. Most invaders were attacking anyone, regardless if they claimed to be innocent, Jewish, or a possible ally.

It was in this blood-soaked destruction that Nicolo and Yusuf met. Both men filled with anger and hate. Nicolo knew this was the fault of Muslims who denied Christians their rightful access to the Holy Land. They were a savage religion without a proper god and as such, were prone to such violence. They slaughtered their own people, after all, in battles long before the Crusaders had arrived. Yusuf knew this was the fault of the Crusaders, merely the latest pack of raiders so greedy for land that they would massacre innocents. Their religion had twisted teachings, somehow encouraging and excusing the murder and rape.

Nicolo had been hit by an arrow when he faced Yusuf. It hadn’t penetrated his padding, but it was an obvious weak spot that Yusuf capitalized on. While Nicolo delivered a fatal blow of his own, Yusuf had struck the arrow home and then, seeing the other man distracted by pain, had landed a final sword thrust to the head. Yusuf watched Nicolo fall before collapsing himself, feeling his life’s blood rushing from his body. Their lifeless eyes stared at each other as the war raged on around them.

And thus began the love story.


	2. Chapter 2

It was in the quiet of a cave, close enough to the entrance that he could feel and see the calm serenity of night, that Yusuf awoke. A dagger lay nearby, next to a satchel. He could make out a figure, further in the cave, close to a small fire. It was appealing to simply leave, but he recognized the man, by now it would be hard not to. This was the man he’d killed, repeatedly. 

He had awoken days ago in the ravaged city, screams echoing within its breached walls. There had been visions to herald his return, of two women and his murderer. His wounds healed with only their dried blood as evidence they had even occurred. No one alive was near him. No one close to explain why he was not still dead. Until he’d seen movement and this man rose. It had taken a second to see it was his killer. The chainmail and most of his gear were missing, probably stolen by another Crusader seeing free protection on a corpse. The man had been left in merely a tunic and pants, looking far more like an average civilian than a soldier. Still he knew. When their eyes met again, Yusuf could tell the knowledge was mutual. 

If the first time did not take, he had every intention of killing the man a second time. Or, as it turned out, many times, each death a far more brief affair. It had become almost routine: one of them would kill the other, move on to do something else, only to be killed in return. The deaths had become quick matters, lasting no more than minutes after the first few. Killing each other had become easy; staying dead for long had been the problem. If not for the amount of bodies and chaos still present in the siege, perhaps their recurring presence would have been noted by others. 

Which was why Yusuf had been confused by his situation in the cave. Last he remembered, he had been avenging another death at the hands of a filthy Crusader when he’d felt a dagger in his chest. Oddly, this had ceased to be unusual for him. He had expected to awaken on the city’s ground, possibly in another pool of blood, hearing the yells from unseen victims. Yusuf was not supposed to be here. Not removed from the fighting. Not surrounded by the soft sounds of night. It was as jarring as when he first came back from death.

Again, that man was there. 

Grabbing the dagger, Yusuf slowly approached him. 

Nicolo sighed at the sight of him, long past caring about a weapon in Yusuf’s hands. He spoke softly, slowly, in Latin. The words made no sense to Yusuf. It was mostly used in formal addresses, but Nicolo had been hopeful. He spoke again in the French he’d learnt during the war. Many Crusaders were actually Franks, and he’d had to learn it to communicate to his brothers-in-arms. Still, he could see the confusion in the other man’s face. He tried another language, a form of his own, Ligurian, but still soft and slow. It was one Yusuf had picked up for trades.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” he was saying.

“What did you do?” Yusuf said. 

The man looked surprised. “You understand?”

“Well enough. What did you do?” He pointed the dagger, not sure if it was even a threat anymore.

“I brought you here. I thought perhaps I was meant to save you, but none of this has ended.”

“What do you mean? What is happening?”

The other man sighed. “I wish I knew. I’ve gone over everything and nothing is special. I am not special. I thought perhaps you, but here we are.”

Yusuf had lunged then, bringing the dagger to the man’s throat. He’d lost count of how many times they had fought, how many times they had killed each other, but this was the first time he’d ever been this close and hesitated. It was the first time he could clearly see the other man’s eyes, open wide and still lost. Before there was hate, then anger, and, for awhile, irritation. There had been fear, once. Only once and so fleeting he couldn’t remember what had brought it on. This was different and somehow managed to get Yusuf to do one thing he’d never thought he’d do with an invader: he let him go with mercy.

“What do you know?” He demanded.

“I know we do not stay dead. If it were a curse or a calling, it should not be both of us, rising together. I have tried listening for guidance, but I hear nothing. I have tried killing more of you or killing even my own brothers who do unholy things, but there is no salvation,” the other man said.

“You think there would be for what you’ve done?” Yusuf asked disgustedly. “You’re no better than any other raider. Trying to claim objects and land for yourselves like lowly thieves, leaving only ruin in your wake.”

“Your people would keep it for yourselves. You think we were consumed by greed, but you fail to examine how selfish you are. Thieves do not steal what already belongs to them,” he countered. The hatred seeped into his voice. This was the man Yusuf knew well. “There was an agreement and your people are the ones who violated it. You are the ones who declared war by denying peace.”

“We declared war? Us?” Yusuf practically laughed at the accusation. “My people had nothing to do with it. It was another faction, again, laying claim to what was not theirs. Your people were the ones who declared war instead of helping us find peace. So ignorant of people you used to call allies that a moment of inconvenience and you decide to slaughter everyone.”

“That is not why we came.”

“Then why did you not limit your killing to the guilty? You’ve killed women, children, Muslim, Jews, anyone who dared—“

“I did not—“

“My family. My friends. My home,” Yusuf spat at the man.

“I did not start this war,” Nicolo said, his voice rising. “I did not want it. It has been… corrupted.”

Yusuf scoffed. 

“Your people attacked each other. You admit that. We are not to blame for all the murder. You have brought that on yourselves.”

Yusuf swung the dagger at him. It was a wild attack, easily avoided.

“Then why are we here? If I am so vile, why bring me anywhere with yourself?”

“Because I felt you die. It is the only message from God I have been granted and I am trying to discover its meaning.” The fight left Nicolo suddenly. “I thought perhaps bringing us away from the war might help. Still there is nothing.”

“You felt me die?” Yusuf said slowly, assessing the other man again. “You ran me through, yes.”

“Before I awoke, I could see you. But not how it was as I fought you. I felt my blade enter your side, as clear as I felt your blade as it pierced me. Your pain and your anger, like it was my own. There were women too, ones I have never seen,” he said.

“And you’ve felt this every time you’ve killed me?” Yusuf asked, careful not to reveal his own experience to an enemy.

He shook his head. “Only once. Then you keep killing me. And I you. But nothing else comes. I have tried stopping my brothers from killing your people or worse. I have tried praying for souls. Still nothing. So I grabbed what provisions I could, prepped horses, killed you, and rode as far as I felt I should.”

“I could not have stayed dead that long.”

“No, I stabbed you many times. Was stabbed once myself while trying to get your body loaded. I think my brothers decided I was a traitor or deserter, trying to save the enemy and run away.”

“Aren’t you both?” Yusuf asked, trying to understand the stranger before him.

“Your body would try to expel the dagger so I tried tying it in. I saw this cave and decided to stop.” Nicolo conveniently does not mention how hard the entire process was or how often he doubted his idea. However, he had felt there weren’t any options left and the hardest part had been getting the body onto the second horse. It was little wonder he’d been stabbed during his efforts, so focused on hefting dead weight onto a tall animal. At least, he had thought, the enemy was not overweight. Definitely more muscle weight, which had lent to more solid handling.

“You killed me all the way here. Then untie me, and wait for me to strike?” 

“It is all we have, it seems,” he shrugged. “An eternity of waiting for death.”

“Perhaps for you,” Yusuf said, but there is little force in his words.

“I have the horses tied to a small tree below and there is food, water and money. Not an overabundance but enough. You may return to the war. I had hoped there was more to our return, but perhaps there is not. Perhaps you have the right idea, to constantly strike down others and hope they are the right ones,” Nicolo sat back down next to the fire.

“What is your plan? Wait here until your God finally talks to you?”

The other man shook his head. “I have been resurrected more times than even He has. If he had wanted to speak to me, He would have done so by now. The women I saw… that is the message I think. I will find them. Perhaps they are prophets.”

“You know where they are?”

“In the vision, I saw them fighting. I think I know the region for the weapons. It is something I studied before the war,” he said, holding his hands out toward the flames. It was a cool night. Yusuf could finally feel the breeze now that he had calmed somewhat. 

“You know weapons?” He took a few steps closer to warm himself.

“Some. Enough, I think, for a start.” 

Yusuf began to fully reassess his enemy. He didn’t appear special, not really. Aside from those eyes, Yusuf could believe he could blend in with most other raiders: a slight tan despite the time spent in the sun, fit, and likely toned body under loose clothing. Yet, he also seemed unlike what Yusuf expected from most raiders: relaxed by a fire, a sword not in reach, willing to talk over fight.

“If you know weapons, where is yours? Or mine? You should know the sabre is superior—“

“The scimitar of the Sacarens is not superior,” the man shook his head at what he perceived as a ridiculous statement. “It is better suited for your people. I will admit it is a finely crafted sword and you honour it well.”

“And yet you didn’t bring one. It is a wonder the city fell.” Yusuf waited for the sting to hit, but was disappointed by the small smirk he got instead.

“The swords are under the cloaks,” the man said, pointing to a small pile off to his right. “They are not ours, unfortunately. Both were probably stolen at some point, but I tested their balance and they are fine.”

“You hid the swords but left me with a dagger?”

“I didn’t want you heavily armed when you came back,” said Nicolo. There was something in his eyes then, Yusuf could see but not name. Like there was a mild humour in his words somehow. 

“And the dagger?”

“I would have liked one if I were you, waking up here, like this,” he said, suggesting that they weren’t completely different.

Yusuf considered leaving, perhaps stabbing the man once more for good measure. He could grab the mentioned provisions and horse, ride back to the city, back to the war. Of course, his participation hadn’t saved the city or its people. There probably wasn’t much left for him by now, if anything. And none of it explained his continued existence. Nicolo wasn’t the only person God wasn’t speaking to beyond visions. Yusuf had tried fighting. He had tried praying. Perhaps the answers did lie with these mysterious women and his enemy.

“You truly think you can find these women?”

“It is all I have left.”

Yusuf sat down, ignoring how little the other man reacted. He would have preferred Nicolo being as visibly uncomfortable by his presence as he was. “I suppose your family will help you. I would turn to mine, but invaders have had a tendency to kill everyone I hold dear.”

The jab hit its mark, as far as Yusuf could tell. A gaze was lifted to meet his eyes for a moment before slowly drifting back to the fire.

“I cannot return. I will have been declared dead, at best,” he said sadly. “Besides, I do not know if this is the work of God or the Devil.”

“No clues in your good book?”

“Any in yours?” The quip was quick.

Yusuf smiled despite himself. It was a good counter, he had to admit. As much as he still hated the Crusader and all others of his ilk, Yusuf could appreciate a sharp wit. Only for a moment, of course. He tried to hide his reaction with a loud sigh and scratched at his beard. 

“So your plan is to ride out, hoping you can figure out the right region based on weapons, and that these women will give you all the answers?”

The other man nodded before lying down, the fire having warmed some of the surrounding stone floor of the cave. It was not comfortable, but the last few days had been exhausting and Nicolo wanted sleep. He closed his eyes.

“Are you honestly going to sleep now? Aren’t you afraid I’ll attack you”

“You have already killed me numerous times while I was awake. I might as well rest now.”

“And you’ve just decided to trust me?” Yusuf’s agitation was clear in his voice. This calm reaction was an insult. They were enemies. They had killed each other. The only thing they had in common was a curse or blessing that could be all Nicolo’s fault for all Yusuf knew, or vice versa. The situation certainly didn’t warrant resting like this.

“There is no trust between us,” came the reply. “But I need rest before I set out, more so if you do kill me and steal everything. Fighting you will be of little advantage.”

“Is that what you expect from me? To be like one of you, killing you in your sleep and robbing you?” Yusuf wanted there to be an argument, needed there to be a fight even a merely verbal one. Yet, Nicolo seemed content to ignore the jab.

“I think I should not expect anything of you. I have been very wrong with all expectations so far.”

Yusuf looked toward the mouth of the cave again. He hated the situation. He hated the invaders and raiders who destroyed everything. He hated the man who rode with them, killed along side them. He hated returning to the destruction again and again. He hated this enemy who had somehow managed to drag him away from that very destruction. He hated being alone and confused. He hated that his favourite target for all his frustrations was the one offering him a solution. It wasn’t right.

He hated being terrified by how much was unknown, how insignificant he felt. He hated that he had lost everything and gained an unending life of that nothingness. There was supposed to be justice, retribution for all that had been stolen from him. He hated that all he did have left was essentially being provided by one of the very people responsible for his loss, if only indirectly. He hated that he couldn’t shake his anger yet could see his enemy lying down, seemingly defenceless, calm and accepting. 

Where was his rage, Yusuf wondered. How could he feel like punching the rock walls until his hands were broken and Nicolo not? Shouldn’t he be off, dying to protect his brethren in the name of his God, not conversing with a man he was probably sworn to kill? 

He stalked over to the cloaks, grabbing them and the weapons beneath. It was rather surprising that the Crusader had told the truth about the swords. The sabre was well-balanced. He tossed the broadsword and one cloak on to Nicolo, pleased by the shocked and annoyed grunt he earned.

“If you’re going to be a fool, at least be a comfortable armed fool,” he said before laying down on the opposite side of the fire. 

“I have a dagger on me.”

Of course he did.

Yusuf closed his eyes and tried to calm himself so he could sleep. It felt like ages since he’d been given a chance for a night without fighting, one night with a semblance of peace.

In the silence, Nicolo finally allowed himself to relax. It was the first time in months. The plan to come here had been simple: reclaim what was holy from infidels, share the glory of God, kill off the scourge if needed, and be rewarded with property and forgiveness for any necessary killings. It had unraveled long before he’d landed, the tales on the boat of side missions with Crusaders stealing artifacts for themselves and doing things he was certain no God should forgive. The stories at camp were worse. He had prayed at night constantly for guidance, feeling surrounded by those who shared his hatred of the enemy but blind to how their own crimes were no better. 

As required, he had killed. In battle, it was a constant contest for survival. The infidels should have surrendered, instead they stood against God’s mortal army. It had been so easy to see it that way while fighting for his life. There was no peace in the struggle to live, though. No moments of calm as he pushed the enemy back or struck them down.

Then he had been killed, and there was never peace to be found. He was confused by his return, every possible answer refuted by the mere existence of Yusuf, his enemy. He could not be an angel if one of the infidels rose as well. He was terrified and his mind would not stop with accusations of punishment from God for not fighting harder and simultaneously for not stopping the killing. He had felt so alone, even while bringing his enemy here as a last effort. He had intended to bring the man away and be gifted either a grand revelation where everything had been explained or complete failure with the man leaving without providing any answers. The silence from above had easily been replaced by the other man, whose anger was understandable. 

How was it that he could relate so easily with him? How was it that somehow, with him, Nicolo was suddenly not entirely alone? With all the chaos, why was he finally able to relax even slightly?

“My name is Yusuf.” The statement broke the silence, followed by a huff like it was a confession wrestled from him.

“I am Nicolo,” came the reply. 

The silence returned and the two men, truly exhausted, drifted off to sleep. They had finally been granted their much desired peace, albeit not as they had desired.

And thus began their adventure into love.


	3. Chapter 3

Yusuf had begun their trek hating all Crusaders in general, but had come to hate one in particular. Not hated him, as a person, specifically, but more what he did and did not do, said and did not say. Mostly it was Nicolo’s unrelenting mission to find the mysterious women from their visions. There was barely time given to anything else, and if it was, that had become infuriating as well.

It had been months upon months upon months of travelling as far as they could push themselves during the day and sleeping just enough at night to continue. Everything they did revolved around whether it would get them closer to their goal. Yusuf didn’t mind the determination at first, but there was never a break if Nicolo could help it. He was far too serious as far as Yusuf was concerned.

Yusuf had begun to suspect Nicolo didn’t understand the concept of fun until he’d spied the man playing with some kids by a market in one of the towns they were passing through. He’d been bartering for some food and been distracted by the laughter. When he’d asked about it after, Nicolo did what was becoming an annoying habit, he’d brushed off the incident. Of course, he’d play with kids. Of course, he knew that game. It was only done until Yusuf was done getting supplies, Nicolo would explain, so it wasn’t a big deal.

As if the man regularly talked about playing games before the war. As if he’d given ample indication that he had no issues with the “young infidels,” as Yusuf referred to them to get a reaction. It didn’t.

He had caught Nicolo giving some of his rations to fellow travellers, and extra coin to beggars if he dared to venture into a town or city. When Yusuf had finally addressed the issue, remarking about the man’s obvious guilt from being a murderer of innocents, Nicolo had brushed it off again. It was his share, after all, and he clearly could not die without it. They were free to do as they wished with what was theirs.

As if it was commonplace for an invader to freely give food and money to the people he was supposed to attack. As if it was completely natural to wish strangers peace and blessings in passing. 

The strangers, in turn, seemed pleased by Nicolo. They accepted his tenderness as though he could never be a killer, an invader, a Crusader. If they helped other travellers against theives, it was deemed a welcome surprise that Nicolo could be violent, could attack with cold confidence. Yet Yusuf had seen that side so clearly before. 

The Crusaders were invaders, like so many others, like those who had slaughtered Yusuf’s family. To kill them, was to bring justice that was deserved by his people, by his lost family. Nicolo had been one of them. It was obvious he was a cold-blooded killer too. There was no doubt of the bigotry and racism. Yusuf had seen that side so well that he had believed that was all there was. It was infuriating to realize this other side, this gentleness, and know this was the side others were greeted by. It was a persistent reminder that Nicolo was not a Crusader anymore, perhaps had never been the kind of Crusader Yusuf thought, perhaps had never been the kind of invader who killed his parents and siblings. He hated how effortlessly Nicolo seemed to show that other side the more they travelled.

Outside of towns, when it was only them, was worse. Yusuf liked conversations. He liked hearing about other cultures. He wanted to know more about the man he was stuck travelling with. For the first few months, their discussions had often devolved into arguments until one of them declared it was best if they stopped talking. The silence suited Nicolo more than it did Yusuf. 

Nicolo, as he had discovered, could probably live inside his head. Every now and then he’d break the silence however with a question that perplexed Yusuf.

“Your family was killed by other raiders, but your friends by the Crusaders?”

“You worship pigs, is it?”

“So we have the same God?”

“How is it possible to believe the son of God is merely a prophet?”

“If this is purgatory, could we know?”

“Did you learn to use the sword because of the all the violence in your life?”

Yusuf had passed the point of trying to understand what prompted the questions long ago. Nicolo never elaborated on why he’d asked them regardless. He never suggested what he was thinking about at the time. Just a question, often not connected to anything, asked and the answer absorbed with the nod of his head, sometimes a few followup queries. Then silence again.

Over time, they did have some amicable discussions. At the very least, there had been periods of peaceful discourse before arguing and insulting began. There had been a discussion when they’d finally gotten around to revealing their full names which had started well enough, until they both pronounced said names wrong and the resulting progression of vocal concoctions was so insulting they’d pulled swords. They had talked briefly about their families, enough to glean how many siblings each had had. It had been tense to start and ended after Nicolo stated that Yusuf’s family must be disgusted he rode with a murderer. Yusuf had agreed and then proceeded to list all the ways the Crusaders met as well have been sent by the devil. Their family businesses had been touched upon until Yusuf had commented that Nicolo clearly came from a line of insufferable people who arrogantly thought they knew better than everyone else and probably didn’t have the sense to keep their mouths shut. The silence after that particular row had lasted until the next morning.

Then there were discussions of foods. Surprisingly, this was the safest. Nicolo loved trying new dishes and was enthralled by some of the delicacies Yusuf would describe or trade for. He was thoroughly taken by the different spices and recipes, constantly complimenting each new taste. Yusuf, in turn, was entertained by Nicolo’s fascination. He had enjoyed this quirk so much, he’d actually held back a biting remark when Nicolo had mentioned his father had tried some food from the region years ago while on a pilgrimage to the city when it was still allowed. He’d been tempted to feign surprise that someone in the family could go there without laying siege, but he’d decided to let the moment be. He’d been rewarded with a tale of flavours and ingredients the other man would love to combine and how, complete with hand gestures. Until Nicolo realized they were getting along a bit too well and stopped. 

It was this other habit that infuriated Yusuf most. Every time he felt they were getting somewhere, Nicolo pulled back. There could be an abrupt nod or shrug, sometimes a sigh, and then silence. He felt like they kept dancing closer to the edge of something new, and then Nicolo would pull back, shrink into his head again.

The mission to find the women would return as their primary focus. It was what they discussed most, especially once Nicolo realized Yusuf had seen them too. Their visions had been similar but they remembered different aspects more clearly. All the tales of different lands helped Yusuf suggest where to travel. Nicolo had a better understanding of directions for those lands. Yusuf could better converse in other languages. Nicolo knew more about the dangers, the weapons to mind. 

There had been an odd exchange the day Yusuf had first tried drawing part of his dream in the dirt, to show Nicolo a symbol he’d seen. He was focused on the crude etching, trying to get it right because he was certain it might be from a flag. When he’d finished, he discovered Nicolo regarding him, not the work. 

“Do you recognize it,” he’d asked. 

“No,” his companion had answered. For the first time, perhaps the only time, Nicolo had seemed uninterested in the latest puzzle piece. “Have you always been able to draw like that?”

“I’d love to see you do better in dirt,” he’d shot back.

Nicolo had been annoyed by his response. “I’m curious if this is a new skill since your first death.”

Yusuf considered his work, realizing there had been a compliment buried in the question. “It’s not new.”

Later that day, Yusuf had entered a city. The residents were unlikely to welcome anyone who looked like Nicolo so he had gone alone. It wasn’t uncommon. Sometimes Nicolo would come along. Sometimes he’d conceal his face with a hood if the threat was low, or not at all if his visage wouldn’t illicit stares or worse. Other times, he’d wait outside a city’s borders, hidden away, trusting his companion to come back. That afternoon, Yusuf had returned with the fruits of his trades, pleased with himself. Not only had he gotten a decent haul thanks to his bartering, but he’d snagged a new treat for them to try after dinner. Nicolo had smiled at the sight of him, and then produced some papers and charcoal from his satchel. 

“I saw some merchants heading in and made a trade,” he’d said. “Your talent shouldn’t be wasted on dirt. It should last.”

Before a thank-you could be uttered, he had seen what Yusuf had secured and turned all attention to the food. He never said what he had traded that day, nor any other day when he would casually present fresh papers to Yusuf. Though such materials weren’t exactly inexpensive. He never explained why he would risk talking to strangers who were likely to kill him, as fleeting as the experience would be. Again, brushing off the incident as if this was the sort of thing anyone would simply do for a former enemy.

It did help when trying to recall the dreams. He had improved to the point he could sketch out things Nicolo remembered too. Occasionally, while being paid to help merchants travel without the worry of criminals, he’d practice sketching other people. He was encouraged by their praise, and relieved no one mentioned using up paper for frivolous fun. Sometimes early in the morning, when he was up before Nicolo would rouse, he’d draw a bit just for himself. It was a brief reprieve from his companion’s punishing pace without the need to impress others. Just a few moments of peace, with images from his mind being transferred to paper or capturing the beauty of a plant or conveying a scene of serenity. Then Nicolo would wake up and it was back to work.

Together they would piece together their plans, and Nicolo would push them forward. Yusuf was no longer sure if it was hope or desperation which spurred the man, but it was clearly beginning to consume Nicolo. There simply wasn’t any true stops, merely brief rests.

Yusuf had tried more than once to force Nicolo into a proper break. He’d threatened to stay while the former Crusader went off alone. Each time, Nicolo had left and he’d had to struggle to catch up. Yusuf pretended that the other man slowed his pace or lingered in a city so they could be reunited, but there was little evidence available besides that he’d managed to find Nicolo again despite the late start. They’d fight when they met up, picking up the argument about breaks.

“I never said you had to come,” Nicolo had reminded him once when his bluff had clearly been called.

That had earned Nicolo a swift death. He had never said it again.

Though Yusuf constantly heard the words in his head whenever he was particularly annoyed by his companion’s attitude and actions. He didn’t have to join Nicolo. There hadn’t even been an offer to join. A ridiculous plan had been stated one cold night and then they’d been riding together in the morning, barely a word spoken between them. Silent resignation that the other was there.

It was how all their fights had ended, regardless of how vicious they had been. No matter the slings. No matter the blood spilled. There would be a heavy sigh from one, the closest either got to admitting surrender but not defeat, a shared glare from both parties, and then resignation. No apologies. 

After awhile they’d fall back into their pattern of half-accepted conversations and focus on their apparent main reason for existing: finding two women somewhere in the world. 

Of course, Yusuf had reached his limit.

They had needed a break. He was determined to give them one, whether Nicolo liked it or not.

And thus they reached the edge of love.


	4. Chapter 4

Yusuf was prepared to stab Nicolo and tie up his corpse before he revived. He had contemplated also gagging him, but figured talking wasn’t a threat. There would most likely be some muttered curses paired with a fair bit of scowling before that silent resignation would settle in again.

“We need to stop,” he announced one night as they sat by a fire. They weren’t sitting across from one another as they had done when they had first started travelling together. The pair had gravitated to sitting off the side of each other. Close enough to listen easily should words need to be said, far enough apart to read the other’s face without having to turn. “I mean it.”

Nicolo regarded him before making a show of looking around their camp, a sign they had stopped in fact.

“I mean for more than one night.”

“We stop plenty.”

“No, we don’t,” he corrected. “During the day we are either travelling or working to help with our travels. We barely rest at night. And that’s if the dreams don’t come.”

“We will rest better when we find them.”

“And when will that be? Another year? Five? We need rest now.”

“Then I would go to sleep if I were you.”

Yusuf tried to calm himself. He had gotten much better at it, riding with the very man who was testing his patience. Nicolo had that effect on him. “We both need a break. You need a break. Just one day we’ll relax here. It’s a good spot for it.”

Nicolo made another show of looking around. There wasn’t much to dislike about their location. They had picked it because it was far enough off the regular routes that they’d be safe from any wayward bandits. There was a small lake nearby where they’d already rinsed off a bit. Some trees would provide shade in the day.

“You are more than welcome to stay here as long as you like,” he said finally, though it was clear no one was asking for that. 

Yusuf ignored the offer. At least he did as best he could, but his temper was fraying. “What is wrong with you?”

“Me?”

“Is there another fool here who would rather run himself into the ground instead of taking one day, just one day, to rest?”

“I am trying to find out why we are here. I am trying to find answers. Why does that not matter to you anymore?”

“What if staying here for a day is the answer? What if they’re on their way to us and this is where we will find each other?”

“Is that what the last dream led you to believe? Does this look like where they were?” Nicolo gestured around them.

It was not, but that was hardly the point of the argument. Yusuf sighed and resolved to kill Nicolo in his sleep. He glared at the other man, who returned the glare. They slipped into their usual silent resignation, and would have remained like that except Yusuf had had enough and wanted one last insult to end the evening.

“Are all priests like this after they’re castrated?” He asked, certain that they couldn’t have all ended up like Nicolo. Sure, he probably would be as irritating if that practice were part of Islam and he had had to endure it. 

“W—what?” 

“After you’re castrated. Because it seems like they took most of your sense when they took—“

“Stop. Stop!” Nicolo shouted at him. “What are you talking about? I’m not… We don’t… “ He rubbed both hands over his face, and massaged his forehead slightly. “Everything is intact. I assure you.”

“Oh?” Yusuf was genuinely surprised. He’d wondered about the stories he’d been told during the siege at Jerusalem, but it had seemed plausible.

“What made you think…” Nicolo sighed and rubbed his forehead again, as if he were forcing back a headache. 

“We were told that’s one of the reasons the Crusaders were dangerous and angry. You had your balls removed with your vow of chastity,” he explained. 

“So this entire time we have travelled together, you have believed that?” 

“I wasn’t going to check.” 

Nicolo covered his face with his hands again. He took a deep breath. It was understandable, he reminded himself, that there were misconceptions about the religions on both sides. He had been told that some Muslims didn’t eat pork because they secretly worshipped pigs. Yusuf had corrected that lie when he’d asked. In fact, he knew there was a lot he had learnt from the other man about the people he’d been taught to hate. 

He’d long ago decided he could not call himself a priest anymore. He still carried a cross he’d been gifted by his father, but never wanted to wear it and the ignorance it symbolized to him. All his knowledge of another religion had been proven so blatantly false or severely misconstrued that he knew he could no longer be a shepherd to his people. At first, he’d thought Yusuf was the exception but their travels had proven, almost painfully, that was not true. Seeing Muslims and others practice their religions, live their lives as good people, Nicolo knew he’d been misled, unwittingly misled others, and worse, had furthered the very violence he’d told himself he would stop. Even as he’d congratulate himself that he was not the bigot he’d been, Yusuf would correct another falsehood or a stranger would do something and he knew he was still unworthy of God. Yusuf, who didn’t practice Islam in any strikingly obvious way seemed closer to God. 

In Nicolo’s mind, Yusuf’s temper was the only thing that seemed to limit him. It made for poor decisions and every argument against wrath. Yet it was the consequence of having such passion in life. Yusuf was like a heart, so clearly alive and feeling. He could lash out at every sting, rage against injustice, rejoice in simple joys and find humour in the serious. Nicolo envied him, even as he tried to teach Yusuf some restraint in his anger. At least enough not to rush headlong into every quarrel without losing that passion. He wanted to find that balance for himself too, and was certain Yusuf was teaching him, perhaps unknowingly, in return. Nicolo had thought he had been learning to be better, a bit more open and easy going.

“Do you think I’m in that much of a foul mood?” He finally asked when he had the courage to look at Yusuf for the answer.

There was no disputing he had been focused on their mission from the start, and it was certainly a trial to go from hated enemies to former enemies to partners. However, Nicolo didn’t think he’d been that poor a companion. He was mad at himself, not Yusuf. They needed to stay on track. He made sure they did. 

Yusuf moved his head from side to side like he was considering. “Well… I mean…” he purposefully trailed off with a smile.

Nicolo chuckled. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome,” the other man said with an exaggerated bow.

He rolled his eyes with a smile tugging at his lips. “I am merely doing what has to be done so we find those women.”

“Or die trying,” Yusuf said. “Which is something I think we should try to avoid since we seem to die enough already.”

“You agree we need to find them?,” he asked. “You understand the importance?”

“What if they don’t have the answers, Nicolo? What if we sacrifice every second of rest and discover it was for nothing?”

Nicolo shook his head, dismissing the suggestion. “When we find them, this will make sense.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because they have to know,” he insisted. “It makes no sense that we would both have visions and it not lead to answers.” 

“Do you find a lot of this makes sense,” Yusuf pushed. “I’m only suggesting we give ourselves a break in case they’re not what we’re hoping for. Why can’t you even consider it?”

“Because… do you not see?” His eyes desperately sought understanding, even a sliver of mutual comprehension. “We have the visions to find them to end this.”

“End this?”

“There has to be an end to this madness. You were trying to save your people and I killed you. I killed your people. Innocent people.” He saw the confusion and pressed on, trying to explain. “I took vows. I was to uphold my family’s honour, to prove myself worthy of my congregation. I told myself it was to protect what was Holy, better share it to enlighten others. Instead, I am a murderer who was too cowardly to stop men who would spit on the teachings of the very Lord they swore to fight for. Do you not see? You were right, about us, about me. These women may explain why I was spared or deliver judgment, but I am ready to meet them. And we must.”

It was a curious thing, Yusuf had thought, that one could feel their heart drop. He knew it was supposed to be a metaphor. Yet he was certain he’d felt it all the same when Nicolo confessed his perceived sins. It was a confession he would have loved once. His early influence was even woven in it. That young ignorance of his having taken root in the mind of a man who was so very different than he had once seemed. He had long ago stopped seeing Nicolo as a cold-hearted invader who would murder his family. It had taken time, seeing him day after day consistently be kind until Yusuf had to admit the Crusader was the worst version of Nicolo but not a current version. It seemed that Yusuf was the only one of the pair who had realized it.

“Nicolo,” he began. “Is that what awaits when you retreat inside your head? When you stop speaking, is it these thoughts that punish you? Is that why you barely sleep?”

“I killed your friends. I might as well have killed your family,” his companion said.

“You’re a fool,” he said simply. In response to the confused look from Nicolo, he continued, “it’s all right. We can spot our own.”

“You are hardly a fool.”

“I thank you, but we are. You didn’t kill my family. I set out to avenge them and I failed. I convinced myself that all invaders were the same, that killing them was justice for my family and that destroying all of you would protect everyone else,” he sighed. “And I killed a lot. I killed you. Then we started travelling together and I swear I have seen you do more good for my people, for anyone than I ever did before. You just give, whatever a kid needs, whatever anyone needs, whatever you can give. It is truly aggravating to watch you, to know what I should have done is what we do now.”

“What I did… I am—“

“Not that man anymore. And I’m not who I was, either. My family would be pleased. I think I have you to thank for that.”

“Yusuf…”

“Nicolo, I was drowning in blood and you pulled me out.”

“I think I was blind by hate until you made me see.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“You’re doing it again,” Yusuf said. “Sinking into your head again. No good has come of this.”

Nicolo shook his head ruefully. “It is not that bad.”

“It is,” he countered “When I go to the markets, I wonder if you’ll be there when I return or lost in your head or, worse, passed out because you did not sleep because you think too much.”

“So you do not think?” Nicolo accused, smiling slightly. “That must be true. I have seen you attack bandits.”

“If it were up to you, we would wait until they were old men to attack,” he laughed.

“I prefer strategy and stealth. You prefer screaming your attack.” 

“You are merely jealous because you are so quiet with your thoughts people have forgotten where you were.”

There was a pause. An opportunity to stop, to pull back again. Yusuf was expecting it.

“It is not my fault that others do not pay adequate attention,” Nicolo said. He pursed his lips, and waited for the reaction.

Yusuf’s laugh was loud, boisterous. It was the first Nicolo had ever heard it so free. The man’s head thrown back before his body pulled him forward. The joy affecting his whole being. 

“I knew it,” he said between laughs. “I knew it!”

Nicolo chuckled. “It is a wonder anyone has ever known quiet with you. You are always making noise. You are only quiet in my sleep.”

“You know my mother used to say the same thing. ‘Yusuf, I used to pray every day that you would speak when you were a baby. Now I pray every night you will stop.’” He remembered the way she would dramatically say it, a loving glint in her eyes. 

“Then she was gifted a mercy I do not have; you snore when you’re very tired,” Nicolo said. 

“My mother would say this because I used to tell stories to my siblings before bed. The longer the story, the later it was, and she deserved rest.” He thought back to all those nights. It’d been ages since he’d remembered them, since the ache wasn’t overwhelming. 

“You told stories?” Nicolo looked pleasantly amazed, Yusuf finally decided. It was the same look his drawings often earned. He hadn’t been able to name it before, when he’d hated the other man, when his companion had been reduced to an arrogant bigot. “Ones you created?”

“When people came to our stall, I’d have them tell me about where they were from. Then, at night, I’d make up stories for my brothers and sisters about adventures to those lands. It was as close as we were going to get.”

“And here you are. On a grand, death-defying adventure,” Nicolo gestured around them.

“What a tale this would be,” Yusuf nodded. Surprised to realize this was what he had wanted, even if it was not how he had wanted it. “How about you? Is this what you dreamed?”

Nicolo shook his head. “No, I did not dream of adventure. I don’t know if I truly dreamt of anything. I was a priest. I simply did what was expected, what was needed. Be there for people.”

“That was it?”

“Simple was enough.”

“Seems like a waste.”

“Good to know.”

“I mean, you would have been wasted like that,” he said. “We have done good, you and I, since riding together. It must be more than you would have done back home in your… temple.”

“Church,” Nicolo corrected. “I will admit we have done a lot of good. There are times I wonder if this could be enough, if we never find those women, if doing just this would be enough. Putting a little good back in the world.”

“I would have never guessed that. I thought you hated most of this,” said Yusuf. “You’re a hard man to read.”

“Growing up, I wasn’t as expressive as others. As you. I don’t really try, but helps when you’re a priest hearing confession or tragedy.”

“I guess it would,” Yusuf agreed. Then a sly smile spread across his face. “What was the confession that was hardest to control yourself?”

Nicolo looked at him like he was being ridiculous. It was a fair assessment.

“Oh come on, tell me. We might be dead, remember? In purgatory? What harm could it do? I won’t even know who you’re talking about. And now I have a feeling it’s a good story.”

Nicolo wanted to resist. Or at least, he wanted to want to resist. He had realized awhile ago that Yusuf had a way of making him do things, of making him want to do things, he thought he’d never do. There were foods he’d tried. There were attack plans against bandits he’d agreed to. At first, it had been easy to hesitate, to reject whatever Yusuf proposed. However, having given in from time to time, Nicolo had discovered that taking a chance with his companion could lead to rather pleasant results. He was actually feeling better about the man he was slowly becoming. 

There was a time this request would have been considered insulting. He would have rejected it with anger, probably a few well-chosen barbs too. He had been a priest, and certainly would never waiver from his obligations for secrecy and seriousness associated with the profession. Yet, now, Yusuf enticed him to loosen his restraints, see beyond what he thought he was expected to do. Besides, he made a good argument.

“The only one that comes to mind,” he began. “Was a little boy had asked for forgiveness and guidance because he had stolen his youngest sister’s doll and chopped off its hair. She had gotten it and started playing with it instead of with him, and he’d been angry so he took it from her the night before and then hacked off some hair. If you had to see this doll, Yusuf…”

“That bad?” He grinned, already knowing the answer would be yes.

“It was hideous. The hair was all different lengths and frayed, and he’d hidden it in a pile of logs that night so it was filthy. He came running up to me, dragging me off so no one would see us. Then he told me his great sin, convinced God would strike him down or worse his mother. He kept insisting I hold this doll and tell him what prayers will fix its hair because he doesn’t remember any because he doesn’t always listen in church but now seems a good time to learn. It was practically dripping wet because he’d tried baptizing it so it’d be reborn.”

Yusuf’s laughs have returned full force. “And you were straight-faced, through all of that?”

“He was so upset,” Nicolo sighed, remembering the incident fondly. “He’d been angry and acted rashly, but he loved his sister. I couldn’t laugh or do anything to make him feel worse.”

“So what did you do?”

“I gave him some prayers to say, told him to leave the doll with me. Then I dried it by a fire, chopped the hair to make it look… better. Found a spare piece of cloth from one of my sisters, tied it around the doll. Then I brought it back to the boy’s home, said he’d brought it to me to bless as a surprise for his sister, so it could be there for her when her older brother could not.”

“So you lied?” Yusuf roared. “He came for salvation and you lied.”

“I did perform a sort of blessing over the doll. Sometimes one has to make it up.” 

It was not what he was supposed to do, of course. He’d kept the truth to himself, certain his father would have lectured him about true sins and the sanctity of prayer. It would have been seen as a wasted opportunity for devout penance. According to his father, a priest’s job was to herd the flock to God, to push them to beg for forgiveness, to force them to see only a holy path, but it was God who gave salvation. Never them. They gave guidance, justice and retribution. Despite how loving the man had been, his father had never been called “forgiving.” Nicolo had decided against that approach.

“And was the kid grateful?”

“Sat in the first pew with rapt attention,” Nicolo stated. Then chuckled, “for a few weeks at least. Then it was back to his parents dragging those kids in, sitting in the middle pews so I couldn’t see how well they paid attention.” He smiled. “But he’d wave whenever he saw me. He cried when I announced I was leaving for the Crusades. Asked if I could bless a doll for myself, to watch over me, like I’d done for his sister.”

“This is why we’re definitely taking a break tomorrow.”

“Yusuf…”

“You can’t tell a funny story without it becoming sad. You need this, Nicolo. I am convinced you have never actually had a day that you could just enjoy without needing to do something.”

“I have heard your stories, even the ones you tell to others when you’re trading or offering our services for payment. We both know each day requires work.”

“Yes, but I also know the wonders of a day of pleasure. We’ll leave the work for the night. Tomorrow, Nicolo, for once, you are going to relax and I am going to show you how. Forget about everything you think you have to do, everything you’re sure you have to do. Trust me.”

Nicolo took a deep breath and agreed. 

And thus they finally tipped into love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should be noted that there isn’t one shred of evidence that anyone thought priests were castrated. There was apparently a big uproar over them becoming celibate— accusations this would lead to priests using “shirts” instead of women to satisfy needs. But the way I look at it, if word came that my enemy was celibate and it was some different religion I didn’t respect, I could imagine a mocking rumour to be along these lines.


	5. Chapter 5

They had talked long into the night, laughing at old stories, the absurdities of the war, and how misled they’d both been. It had felt good to finally speak of their pasts without resorting to insults or worse. 

Not that it stopped Nicolo from having one of his nightmares from the Crusade, but he didn’t wake feeling like it was a punishment for being a murderer. He’d known Yusuf had flashes of the war sometimes too. It was hard to hide when they’d both react in a panic to a distant sound. There had been nights neither had slept for more than an hour because one of the travellers they were paid to escort was hurt and the screams of pain or the wound itself brought back vivid memories every time they closed their eyes. Now, Yusuf’s words of forgiveness let him feel the memories were merely that: memories, not instruments of torture for his sins.

They weren’t the men they were when they had died. They both knew that. Acknowledged it. Somehow freed from it finally.

While Yusuf slept, he busied himself with watching for bandits. It was unlikely, considering their location, but it gave him something to do. Yusuf would probably have groaned over this decision, but the task helped Nicolo move past the nightmare until he could rest again.

It was still before dawn when he woke up again. He got up, stretching like usual, hearing his back crack.

“This is not resting,” came Yusuf’s groggy comment. “Go back to sleep.”

“I am awake.”

“No, you’re not. We are both still asleep until the sun comes up. Now lie back down before I pin you to the ground with my sword.”

Yusuf’s back was still turned so he missed Nicolo’s bemused expression. The threat couldn’t have been serious. Yet, it was enough that Nicolo laid back down, quietly staring the night sky so Yusuf could sleep again.

The sun was definitely up when he woke for the third time. At some point he’d rolled over and covered his head with his blanket, trying to block out the light. He couldn’t remember the last time his body had allowed him to rest this long into the morning. It was tempting to see if he could doze off again.

“You can if you want,” Yusuf said from his bed roll, as if he had read his companion’s mind. “That’s the beauty of today.”

Nicolo smiled. “I am hungry. Am I permitted to make breakfast or is that work saved until we are starving at night?”

“One of us should make it soon, and I would never deny you that pleasure.”

It was true that he found making meals enjoyable. Yusuf had certainly encouraged it. Though they both benefitted from meals that had flavour without it being so overpowering the food had to be choked down, as had sometimes been the case when Yusuf had been the chef. Nicolo’d been taught some things about foraging to feed themselves as the Crusaders had waited outside Jerusalem’s walls. Their travels since then had taught him so much more and it was nice to provide to the partnership he had with Yusuf. 

The other man could draw and describe scenes wondrously, in Nicolo’s opinion. He had been amazed when he’d first discovered those talents, and it hadn’t stopped as those skills improved. It was never a hard decision to barter for more supplies for Yusuf. The man was gifted and Nicolo was grateful he was there to bear witness. He was pleased every time he could tell others about his companion’s abilities, to show off some of his work. 

Yusuf tried to downplay his drawings, but Nicolo would wave him off. Luckily, the other man never seemed angered by his actions. To be fair, it was no worse than when Yusuf would tell strangers about some of the food Nicolo had managed to prepare. Somehow as equally impressed by what Nicolo could do with a few ingredients as Nicolo was by what he could do with charcoal and paper.

Nicolo had come to consider it a privilege to travel with Yusuf. One which he’d tried to honour by pushing them to their goal, to make himself a bit more worthy of it. Yet the evening’s revelations had shown his efforts were a bit more selfish than he’d realized and they were wearing on his travel partner. Besides, Yusuf had apparently decided he wasn’t so bad, after all, as long as they could rest.

The meal wasn’t grand by any measure, but it garnered a compliment just the same.

After breakfast, he’d been at loss for what to do next. It wasn’t that he had worked all the time before the Crusade, but his profession tended to keep him busy. There were prayers and preparations for mass. Walking through town, he was always pulled into this chore or that. Someone always needed help in someway. Help carrying a basket or listening to a complaint or entertaining a child or children so their parents could focus on some task. Even his friends had remarked that he was often stopped by others. They knew he could be late because people pulled him into conversations to ask his opinion or what God would suggest and it was his duty to forgo his wants for his congregation. Then there was studying and sword practice to be a better priest, or any other information he wished to absorb. It all made for days filled with things to do.

“Why don’t you read something like you usually do when we’re with others?” Yusuf suggested. 

“Everything I have is to further our pursuit. I believe you have forbade me from doing so.”

“I would never forbid you from doing anything,” his companion said. “Only a fool would think they could stop you from doing what you want to do.” 

Yusuf decided not to mention his previous plan to kill and tie up Nicolo. It had been better in theory than in probable execution anyway. Knowing Nicolo when he’s determined, he may have broken several bones in his bid to escape his binds. They’d surprised more than one pack of thieves that way. 

“I want to prepare for when we leave yet I stop myself for you.”

“I”m still not the one stopping you, Nicolo.” Yusuf looked around for where they’d put their dice. They usually played with other travellers, but they could probably go a few rounds to pass the time without getting too competitive. 

“Why don’t you draw me?”

“Draw you?”

“Yes, you have done so with others and enjoyed it. Why not with me? It will give me something to do by doing nothing.”

“It will also give you time to sit still and think, which we’ve already said is not good for you.”

“Then I will tell you all about my home, like your customers used to do. Later, you can tell me a story like you used to do. I would love to hear one of your tales,” Nicolo said. “Besides, you have never drawn me before.”

That hadn’t been entirely true as Nicolo had proven to be a decent model while asleep. His features paired with a bright moon made for lovely contrasts. Early morning hours made everything about him somehow softer. Those weren’t sketches he’d ever seen, however. 

“You will have to sit on your hands then as I draw.” Yusuf gestured emphatically as he continued, “You talk with your hands.”

Nicolo laughed as he sat down, on his hands, and tried for a relaxed position that suited Yusuf. 

“You may ask me anything and I will tell you,” he said. “About our flowers, animals, the port. What it was like on the sea.”

“Really?” Yusuf began sketching, the lightest of touches to the paper before he would commit to a line. “Anything?”

“Yes, anything,” Nicolo said. 

Yusuf chuckled as his companion unknowingly wiggled while talking, his hands clearly wished to help.

“No more confessions, though,” he said quickly, misunderstanding what had caused Yusuf’s laughter.

They talked while Yusuf attempted to draw Nicolo. Both men enjoyed the activity, discovering how their lives before were similar or different without the usual pain from the memories of loss. Somehow the information led to promises for the future. Yusuf vowing to show off his merchant skills one day, to fully explain the world of textiles. Nicolo swore he would teach the other man how to swim when Yusuf explained he’d never learnt because it wasn’t a necessity.

“I will show you. You will be a natural, I know, like you are with so much. You will love it,” Nicolo had said with a wave of his hand before remembering he was supposed to be sitting on his hands. 

Yusuf had laughed and marvelled at the man sitting across from him. He’d had no idea Nicolo had held him in such grand regard. In fact, he had become certain that perhaps no one had had as much faith and awe in him as Nicolo did. He’d spent so much time and energy trying to figure out his companion, his hidden motives, and how he had to be like any other raider, he’d missed the calm compliments. The simple assurances that Yusuf could do whatever he set his mind to, that his amateur drawings were works of art to be shown off, that Nicolo was better having known him and others were lucky for the same reason. 

Then there was the realization that Nicolo always spoke of them together, and he wasn’t the only one. When exactly their lives had become inseparable, Yusuf wasn’t sure. For so long it had been silent resignation, an oppressive feeling they were shackled to one another. At some point, it had shifted slightly. Resignation they were stuck with their situation, but actual acceptance and comfort that they had each other. Waking from nightmares from the war to find the other awake too, and suffering no judgment for possible weakness. Unspoken agreements for shared food and money. Trust that had solidified. The shift had been slow but natural, Yusuf knew Nicolo might not have noticed either.

Certainly the other man had brushed off future promises too, and even compliments. Yusuf could rave about something Nicolo had concocted and the response was a shrug, as if anyone could have done it. Just as he had whenever Yusuf wondered out loud at how calm Nicolo could remain, how his emotions did not dictate his thoughts. And that ever present sense of gentleness, softness like a feather, when Yusuf knew his companion could be as unrelenting and solid as iron. He had come to admire how all those sides of Nicolo often functioned in harmony: tenderness and compassion giving way to harsh determination in a fight, and then back again to comfort any innocents. 

While the picture of them had become clearer, Yusuf’s art had become a source of frustration. He grumbled again, looking at Nicolo’s eyes to the ones seemingly mocking him on the page.

“You’re not drawing my nose too big, are you?” Nicolo actually joked. 

“No,” Yusuf huffed. “It’s your eyes. I think I could attempt to draw them forever and never truly do them justice.”

“They are just eyes.”  
“No, they are not. Mine are just eyes. Yours are…” Yusuf tried to find the words. “They are ever changing with your moods. The colour defying definition. Like the depths of waters I’ve never seen before, dancing between dark and light, startling as they are calming. I fear one could get lost in them, be submerged in them and still feel weightless in their gaze.”

Nicolo inhaled deeply, taking in the compliment. “Mine maybe special for their colour, but yours are the ones that offer comfort and warmth with a glimpse. Or speak of strength with a stare that brooks no argument.”

Yusuf looked at his drawing, surprised how easily Nicolo could say his thoughts so precisely. He could wax poetic with dozens of constanazs; Nicole could cut a man down with a dozen words. His sketch didn’t convey any of that. It simply showed a man, staring at the artist. The proportions were right; broad shoulders wider than the hips. The mole on the face was properly placed, visible but not a focus. Hands hidden with their positions slightly off because of their owner’s fidgeting. But the eyes lacked the life Yusuf saw in reality.

“It’s amazing,” Nicolo said while gingerly touching the page. His companion hadn’t noticed that he’d moved, too distracted by all the imperfections on the paper. “You have made me look better than I am.”

“No, if you look, you’ll see the problems. I’m still learning.”

“I am looking, Yusuf. It is you who are not seeing what is infront of him. A work in progress, but the result will be something to behold.” 

There was hand on his back, a gentle rub for extra support, before it was removed.

“Though if you are truly frustrated, I do have a suggestion of what we could do next,” Nicolo offered.

“And what’s that?” Yusuf asked.

A smile slowly spread across his face. “Fight me, with your scimitar.”

Yusuf laughed. “You want me to kill you? Like old times?”

“No, I want to fight you as partners. I have read about your sword, but only ever see it in action when you are trying to kill someone.”

“Like you,” Yusuf offered.

“Like me,” Nicolo agreed. “I have wondered what if would be like fighting now. When we will not die. When we don’t hate each other.”

Yusuf was tempted to say they never truly hated each other, more the idea they had of each other. Only that wasn’t quite true. There had been hate. It had run deep within them. Forced to live without fail, they had managed to kill it in a way. Driven it away to leave them as they were. 

“You think you will best me?” Yusuf put the paper down and stood up, eyeing the other man. “You realize you don’t have your protection this time and I do know your moves?”

Nicolo fetched their weapons and gestured to a clear area nearby. It was a good, flat spot for a friendly duel. “You do not have the advantage of an arrow stuck in my side this time.”

Yusuf took his sword and stepped back, getting in a fighting stance. “You will not get lucky by stabbing my side as I slip on the slick ground.”

“You barely slipped.”

“You barely had the arrow in your side.”

Nicolo thrust first and the match began. They laughed as they swung, paring blows and dodging attacks. There were quips about near misses and though the fight became a bit more competitive, the nature remained fun. Shirts were removed as the battle became more earnest. Distance was forfeited at times. Their bodies coming within a heavy breath of each other. When Yusuf finally brought his blade to Nicolo’s throat, they laughed as best they could.

“This time, let me try your sword,” Nicolo said. 

“You know it is not the weapon but the man who wields it that is deadly,” Yusuf replied.

“Then you shall triumph again.”

“And what do I win? If I beat you with your own inferior long sword.” 

“You need a prize? Is it not enough that I am gracing you with a superior weapon?”

Yusuf laughed heartily again. They had had this type of discussion before. The merits and myths of each sword explained. Sometimes mocked, especially when their journey began.

“Fine,” he said trading weapons. “I will give you an advantage with my scimitar, but it will not save you.”

“Ah yes, I feel beyond saving already.”

Yusuf swung the blade a bit, getting a feel for it. Though he would not admit it aloud, it was well-balanced more so than he’d expected even after seeing Nicolo use it so often. There was a definite difference to his usual weapon that he’d have to keep in mind against his opponent, but it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. He looked at Nicolo so see how he was faring and blinked in surprise. While he had practiced a few attacks, his companion was still admiring the sabre, caressing its surface with almost reverence. Yusuf had spoken about the sword, how it was viewed by his people, how it was theirs. Still it was touching to witness Nicolo showing such respect for it.

He cleared his throat. “Ready?”  
“Yes,” Nicolo answered and turned to face his opponent once more, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

This match was far different than the first. The laughter and taunts were still present, but so were hints on how to properly handle the swords and critiques on moves. Far more attacks were in close quarters, hands grappling at times, bodies pressed together as leverage to push the other man off balance or disarm him. 

They had sparred with partners in the war. It was necessary to keep skills sharp and ready to attack their hated enemies. There was nothing usual about such things.

Yet this duel felt different to Yusuf and Nicolo, as had the previous one. Their laboured breathing had become less about the struggle and a bit more about appreciation for the well-toned opponent, continuously sliding in close. The looks held a bit more passion and drive, more focus on how each slide felt, how sweat accentuated muscles. When Nicolo finally bested Yusuf, there was a moment of surprise. Their eyes had locked, and just as victory was about to be announced, they both realized their bodies had very much enjoyed the workout. Much more than they had with any opponent or sparring partner before. They broke apart, pleased they were not alone in their physical reactions but uncertain. 

The attraction was clearly mutual. Almost painfully mutual, but there was a question as to what to do next.

Nicolo looked at Yusuf for some guidance, before realizing he’d already received it. Yusuf had told him over and over to trust instinct, to believe what he knew, to act instead of dwelling in his thoughts too much. To forget the expectations and restraints he cast upon himself. To trust him.

Nicolo approached the other man, his companion, his partner, the person who’d killed him, the one who made him feel alive. He searched his eyes for understanding. This was the man who made him laugh and smile more, who acted like he was amazing, who let him feel more like the person he wanted to be. 

“Yes?” he asked before leaning in to kiss Yusuf. There was no hesitation in return, only hands coming to cup his face.

Yusuf closed his eyes to savour the moment. The man who made him slow down and see the beauty of life, and feel more than anger and loss was kissing him. This was the person who looked at his imperfect works with amazement, acted like he was a wonder. An enemy who’d not only discovered his wrongs, but corrected them as best he could and credited Yusuf for his success. And he thought Yusuf was worthy of his affection. 

“Please,” Nicolo’d tried to say, but the answer “Yes” was already spoken as their lips met again. There were more questions to follow, with more affirmations granted. That passion Yusuf could show so freely that Nicolo envied him flowed easily. It mixed with their laughter and talk as they discovered more about each other, humbled to be allowed access and overjoyed to share this with such trust and admiration. They would not resume their search for the two women for several days, having found better ways to spend their time. Nicolo would remark many times that Yusuf did know about pleasure while his lover would comment that he was becoming a most grateful student himself.

And thus they fell, willingly and excitedly, in love. 

And they still fall today, with a kiss, a wink, a caress, a smile.  
Emotions given words.  
Desires given freedom.  
Hearts, opened and exposed,  
vulnerable to each other  
and protected by each other.  
Surrounded by unwavering love.

And thus they will continue, falling ever deeper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments will be cherished. 
> 
> Apparently the Sabre was the more appropriate name for the sword used during the first crusade as scimitar was less specific, and tied to oriental origins. I hope I fixed all the appropriate references. 
> 
> the long sword is not a clumsy, oddly-weighted weapon. There was a reason it was well-liked by knights. 
> 
> I let the fellas gush about each other. They finally had a day to relax and feel. Of course, they’d finally realize they wanted to feel each other more. I tend to think that when one loves another, they truly believe that person is amazing and they’re lucky to be with them. So gushing. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
